


Your hand on my forehead as though to check for a fever / Yeah, big plans in mind

by Birdbitch



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, references to The Nanny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: Dick gets back from patrol before Bruce.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	Your hand on my forehead as though to check for a fever / Yeah, big plans in mind

When Dick got back into the cave, he felt like the night's patrol had been an entire week, each hour its own day, each minute an hour ( _ foot by foot, inch by inch, millimeter by fucking millimeter _ , he thought, stretching out his hamstrings). First, too slow, then, too fast, Red Robin needing an assist on the other side of Gotham, Robin needing backup, Batman unable to attend to either because he was too busy dealing with Catwoman…Dick groaned and peeled his suit off, and regretted it almost as quickly as he appreciated the cool air. 

Damian had been sent home first, grouchy because of exhaustion ( _ baby's first science fair _ had crept up too quickly and Damian had spent more time than Dick would have thought he would on the whole project, effectively wearing himself out). Tim begged off around midnight, claiming a board meeting in the morning which they both knew Bruce wouldn't bring himself to attend and which Tim would have to go to by proxy, but Superboy had also been hovering around Gotham since eleven-thirty at least if not before then, and Dick couldn't blame Tim, if what was what was actually going on involved the need to see Conner. He didn't even really want to be out anymore himself, which was uncharacteristic for him, but he was still recovering from an ankle sprain, and. And. And.

Bruce was still out with Selena.

Some grunt working for some gang leader caught Dick pretty hard across the mouth around nine, and by now the bruise blossomed into something pinky-purple and ugly. Ice and Motrin. There was still an ice pack in the cave freezer, and they had stock in over-the-counter painkillers (or maybe Wayne Enterprises manufactured them now, but either way, there were plenty), and Dick held the ice pressed against the sore spot while he sat down to record brief notes on the night.  _ Nothing unusual.  _ Pause.  _ Mostly. Regularly scheduled shipment of Class A drugs interrupted by yours truly.  _ Another pause, and Dick erased the whole thing to replace it with  _ FR shipment of Ivy's "truth serum" seized; contents destroyed. Liasson w/Gotham PD informed, investigation passed over. Will oversee GPD intercept of tmrw nite planned delivery via boat.  _ He looked over it.  _ Seriously, what are they even thinking anymore? _

He barely heard Bruce come over, even though the Batmobile pulling in had made plenty of noise. "How's Damian?" Bruce asked, voice close to Dick's ear. He tilted his head to give him a better angle of reading the report.

"He's fine. He still hasn't figured out what to do with the folks who aren't Grade A Quality Supervillains."

"Hm. Who got you?"

"Some jerk. It's fine." He pulled away from Bruce, desperate suddenly to get space because he remembered that he was irritated with him. "How's Selena?"

Bruce gave an eyeroll. "She can't help herself."

"Winona Ryder couldn't help herself," Dick said, and he got out of the roller chair. "How many Rembrandts did she make off with?"

"She didn't make off with any of them." She hadn't been getting away with anything, not lately, not any time Batman caught her and spent time with her. Dick kind of got it, but then, he wasn't a thief, and didn't want to compete with criminals for anyone's attention, Bruce's included. Bruce crowded back up to him, pulled the ice pack away from Dick's face and tilted Dick's chin to the side to get a better look at him. "The truth serum?"

Dick didn't look at him, instead keeping his eyes trained on a spot across the cave. "Taken care of, B. I'm a big boy."

"I know you are," Bruce murmured, encroaching again.

He'd say he "let" Bruce kiss him, but the truth was that he'd been waiting for it since before the man had even gotten home. And the truth was, he liked it a lot, as much as he always had, always would. "I'm not happy with you," he said, and he pulled Bruce back in, dropping the ice pack out of his hand so he could better pull him closer. "You're never where you need to be." Never where  _ I  _ need you to be. His words had no bite, though, not after one of Bruce's hands wormed its way up the hem of Dick's sweatshirt. "No fair, B. No fair."

"She needed to talk."

"Tell her to get a therapist. Or a brick wall." He pressed his face against Bruce's shoulder and sighed when the man kissed his earlobe. "Don't tell me you ran into Ivy," he joked, but over the past few months they'd both been much more keyed up, necking in the cave after they were sure Damian had gone to bed as though they were both teenagers again. Dick had low, pessimistic predictions that it would cool off just as fast it had come on and that Bruce would go back to only occasionally touching him until they were both veritable old men—but it still hadn't happened, no matter how many outs Dick gave Bruce to explain away the behavior. 

Bruce crowded Dick against the computer terminal table. "No Ivy," he confirmed. Then, with a tender voice: "Your ankle?"

"I'll live." In his head, Dick could picture the bruises Bruce probably had, many of them not even from crime fighting but clumsiness in the regular waking hours when the lack of sleep finally caught up to him. 

They fell into it again together. "I have a few reports to write," Bruce, like he wasn't the one whose hands had fallen to Dick's ass and squeezed, pleased to have landed where they were with comfort. I have a few reports to write, but. Dick groaned when Bruce nipped his jaw, right on the bruise ( _ on purpose, _ Dick thought, but didn't say anything). Characteristically, Bruce didn't apologize—not for the bruise, not for Selena, not for getting home so damn late. If it were ten years ago—three years ago, even—Dick would have complained louder, probably would have stormed out, but as of the moment, he was a little busy trying to get Bruce closer through their clothes, trying to weigh the benefits of dropping trou versus the cons of the cool air of the cave and the discomfortable chill which would invariably result. 

"If you have so many reports to write," he said, pulling back a little, "You can meet me upstairs when you're done. I'll try to stay up."

"Fat chance." Bruce kissed Dick again, searing with it, enough stubble on his chin to cause friction. "Damian's in bed?"

Dick threw his voice through the top of his nose. "Mr. Sheffield. You know, the kids are at school, Niles is shopping. We could...do it." 

"I hate it when you do that," Bruce muttered, but Dick could still feel the shape of a smile against his throat. 

"If you don't want me playing the Nanny, then don't make me one," Dick answered. He pulled away from Bruce again, slipping out of his arms with as much grace as he used to manage whenever he'd avoided getting tied up, only for his ankle to protest and give out. A cat, he figured, probably had a little more coordination. Even if not  _ that _ particular cat. Bruce caught him before he hit the floor, helped him down before lifting him bridal-style. "Don't you have a board meeting in the morning?"

"Tim will take care of it."

"Tim's with Superboy."

Bruce grunted at that, or maybe because the multiple flights of stairs after a night on the town was finally enough to wear him down, and Dick hid his face against the man's neck to conceal his worry about being dropped. "I see," Bruce said, shouldering his way into the master bedroom. "Did he mention—"

"Yeah, yeah. He's got it taken care of." Now, Dick squirmed out of Bruce's grip and landed—gracefully, this time—on both feet, stayed steady enough to get to the bed and sprawl out. "Better than some reports, right, B?" He might not have been a twenty-year-old anymore, and he might not have the same sinuous curves as leading ladies tend to, but Dick knew the figure he cut. And he expected the way Bruce came towards him, starting shy like he hadn't been in a state of indecency just moments before coming upstairs. 

When Bruce tilted Dick's head again to look at the bruise, he was gentle in his touch. "You took care of things," he said, not a question. Dick smiled tightly at him.

"Yeah, B. I took care of them. Come here."

It still felt like time had been well-coated in molasses, slowed enough that Dick and Bruce could take their time with each other, the way they had been lately when the initial fervor of getting it together would wear off thirty minutes in and Bruce would be reminded that his back had been broken before, and Dick would be reminded that he did prefer to slow down, usually now that he'd tasted a wide variety of fruits and vegetables and meats and sweets and knew what it was he ultimately liked most. Yet. Dick had been waiting for the better part of two hours, and he started feeling the anxiousness of getting nowhere, or of getting close enough into it that Bruce falling asleep mid-coitus would ruin the entire night even more than his rendezvous with Catwoman had. (This had happened before, though in Bruce's defense, it hadn't happened more than twice, and at least on one of those occasions, Dick had fallen asleep, too.) 

Bruce caught Dick's subtle hints to hurry up; not hints so much as the tremor in his body of potential energy, the tension in his thigh and his reluctance to move like he was afraid of scaring Bruce off. At least, Dick figured, Bruce must have caught it, because Bruce's hand with its coarse palms and wide fingers wrapped around him and brought their cocks together, Dick seated on Bruce's lap, comfortable, ragdoll-like in his maneuverability. "Bruce," he murmured, resting his forehead against the man's shoulder, and Bruce sighed.

"I'm here."

This was so frequently untrue, but Dick didn't want to fight, not now, not when he was so close and he knew that Bruce would be cleaning up after for the both of them. Not when he was so exhausted anyway. The night caught up to him; the fight with the henchman who clocked him could have been fifteen minutes ago or it could have been fifteen hours ago, and either way, he still would have felt it, even when he came over Bruce's hand, and even when Bruce eased him onto his back so he could go grab a damp towel. "I want to tell you not to do it again," he said when Bruce came back, "but I know you too well. Or, know you two too well. Whichever."

Bruce didn't answer, probably aware that anything he said would be like stepping on a landmine. "Thank you for getting the children to bed, Nanny Fran," he said, finally, and it got Dick to crack a smile.

"Oh, Mr. Sheffield, I didn't know you cared."

It took a moment, and then Bruce responded. "Of course I care," he murmured. “I have to shower.”

“Go on, I’ll stay up.”

He kissed Dick softly before standing back up, heading back towards the bathroom. Dick's chest felt heavy for a moment, and when he heard the shower start, he knew that he probably could have joined Bruce and soothed over some of the discomfort of the night. Instead, he resolved to at least stay awake until Bruce got back, and then promptly fell asleep anyway.

Bruce, of course, didn't hold it against him, not when the whole night had felt like it had lasted so interminably long. He assumed that Dick had probably had about as long a night as he had, or something like it based on that bruise, so he laid down on the bed, and then wrapped his arm around Dick's waist to pull him close again. He, too, fell asleep in minutes.


End file.
